


there is no grace in act five

by anacruses



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacruses/pseuds/anacruses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>valjean frees javert at the barricade; javert is less than pleased with this turn of events</p>
            </blockquote>





	there is no grace in act five

**Author's Note:**

> i still struggle with actual prose; getting better, though  
> basically i just want the alley scene to end with ugly awkward making out, is that too much to ask

The night is humid and thick with the smell of gunpowder. Valjean leads Javert into the alley, over a barricade, and turns to face him. Javert sees the body of the Thenardier girl lying some distance away, bloodied breast exposed, eyes open and reflecting the stars above.

It occurs to Javert that he is about to die, and at the hands of Jean Valjean, no less. It does not bother him.

It is just.

"Take your revenge," he says in a voice that is not his own, that comes from too far away, too deep in the darkness, to be his own.

Valjean pulls out a knife, and Javert feels himself laugh. It suits him better, he thinks, and tells Valjean so.

Valjean ignores him and presses him against the wall. His eyes are dark and warm as the night that surrounds them, and Javert forces himself to maintain eye contact. Valjean takes the knife to Javert's wrists, and Javert is surprised that he feels no pain.

He looks down at his wrists, expecting them to be bleeding scarlet, expecting to see his life leeching out of his opened skin; he sees nothing, and still doesn't understand.

"You are free," Jean Valjean says, with the gentle clemency Javert has come to loathe over the years.

Now, he feels nothing.

He rubs his sore wrists, blinking, unfeeling. Valjean continues talking, telling him things, an address, a name that is not his own, and Javert doesn't hear. He scowls.

"That's not how this is supposed to go."

Valjean cocks his head. "I'm sorry?"

"I said, that's not how this ends. You're supposed to kill me."

Valjean sighs quietly, almost imperceptibly, and a sad smile twitches at his lips. "I'm sorry to disappoint."

Javert looks at his face and sees no trace of betrayal there, does not see the convict he has been hunting all these years, no sign of the vicious thief. In his place, Javert sees an honest man. The night is suddenly stifling, the stars cold and taunting.

It occurs to him that Valjean is risking his life to do this, that the students on the barricade would not hesitate to kill Valjean too.

"Get out of here," Valjean mutters, casting a glance toward the cafe over his shoulder.

Javert shakes his head. "This isn't how it ends. You're supposed to kill me now." His brow furrows, his mind races. "Either you kill me or I kill you."

Valjean presses something into his hand, and smiles. Javert looks down and is unsurprised to see the clasp-knife. He turns it over in his hands, suddenly forgetting what he meant to do with it.

He looks up at Valjean; Valjean is watching him with a tired smile. Javert is aware of the street crumbling beneath him, is aware of his mind swimming and fading. The knife drops from his fingertips and clatters; the sound is like thunder in his ears.

"Get out of here," Valjean tells him again.

Still not completely conscious of his actions, still waiting for the death blow that refuses to come, Javert grabs Valjean's collar and pulls them together and _kisses_ him, and it is awkward and unwieldy and hot and tastes of sweat and blood, and Valjean kisses him back, his hands trailing awkwardly down Javert's sides, and Javert can't be sure which one of them is misinterpreting his actions.

He laughs, breaking the kiss, his face flushed with humiliation and--and he knows not what.

"Kill me, rather."

Valjean pulls his gun out of his belt; Javert has no doubt that he still won't kill him.

"Number Seven, the Rue de L'Homme Arme."

Javert nods vaguely. "Number Seven." He doesn't know if the acknowledgement is a threat or a promise or something else entirely. He runs shaking fingers through his hair, matted with blood and dirt, and laughs again.

Valjean looks at him with sad, dark eyes, looks at him like he wants to say something. He doesn't. 

Instead, he fires the pistol into the air, and the sound barely registers to Javert; he is already gone.


End file.
